


you can be my great regret (though i guess it hasn't hit me yet)

by comically_so (knobblyfruit), knobblyfruit



Category: Pundit RPF, Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knobblyfruit/pseuds/comically_so, https://archiveofourown.org/users/knobblyfruit/pseuds/knobblyfruit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a one-night stand, and Anderson basically panics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can be my great regret (though i guess it hasn't hit me yet)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an OT over at [](http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanfic/profile)[**fakenews_fanfic**](http://community.livejournal.com/fakenews_fanfic/). The prompt at the OT was the [prompt table](http://community.livejournal.com/un_love_you/996.html) at [](http://community.livejournal.com/un_love_you/profile)[**un_love_you**](http://community.livejournal.com/un_love_you/), and I chose _12\. I'm drunk_ , and _14\. I'm awake and you're breathing._ And a little bit of _17\. Wish I didn't love you._ sneaked in there without my permission. I'm sorry for the long, pretentious title, but I listened to "Sunburn" by Gordie Sampson on repeat as I wrote this and it couldn't be anything else.

This isn't how Anderson expected it to go.

Well, truthfully, he hadn't been expecting it at all. Though, judging by the knowing looks Jon and Stephen were giving them as they stumbled into a cab together, maybe he should have.

They were only supposed to be sharing the damn cab. It would drop Keith off at his place and then take Anderson off to his. End of story.

Except when it arrived at Keith's building, he'd gotten out and then ducked his head back in to look at Anderson. "You should come up." Not a question, just a simple statement of fact, confidence dripping from the words like he couldn't imagine anywhere else Anderson would want to go.

In his defense, Anderson couldn't think of anywhere else, either.

Anderson can't recall how they got up ten stories to Keith's apartment, but he remembers being shoved up against the door the moment it shut behind them. He remembers bruising kisses that shouldn't have been as enjoyable as they were, but he supposes that's thanks to the alcohol.

It's mostly a blur after that, just snapshots of hands on hips, bites on shoulders, fingers tangled in hair, and an amazing tightness around his cock.

He raises an eyebrow at that as he turns his head to look at Keith, who had collapsed right where he was after Anderson had apparently fucked him into the mattress and hadn't moved since. He's still sleeping soundly on his stomach, face half-pressed into the pillow his arms are crossed under.

Anderson turns back to look up at the ceiling again. He could probably slink off the bed and out the door without waking Keith. Hell, he probably _should_. One-night stands never end well for him. He can never stand the morning-after awkwardness.

Just then Keith sucks in a breath and Anderson freezes, waiting for the inevitable _What the hell?_ But Keith just snuffles into the pillow in a way that should not be that stupidly endearing, and Anderson feels something melt in his chest.

He doesn't realize he's reaching out to caress Keith's face until just before he touches the skin.

No. Oh, _no_.

He pulls his hand back like he's been burned. He stares at Keith for a minute, just listening to him breathe, deeply and slowly, like it was any other morning. Like there's nothing special about this particular one.

And, hell, maybe there isn't. He doesn't know anything about Keith's private life. Maybe he has someone new in his bed every night. Maybe Anderson is just another notch in his bed post. Nothing special.

He can feel himself getting angry, and is sort of relieved. Anger he can work with. It's a hell of a lot easier than anything else he's tempted to feel at that moment.

"I wasn't even supposed to like you," he says out loud, and immediately regrets it when Keith's eyelids flutter open.

So much for slipping out unnoticed.

"What'd you say?" Keith mumbles, still half asleep. Anderson hates how he can feel his heart stutter at the innocent question, and it just fuels his anger more.

He roughly shoves the blankets off of him and practically hurls himself off the bed. He ignores the wave of dizziness from the weak hangover and searches for his clothes. "Where the fuck are my pants?" he mutters to the room.

"Andy, what --" Keith seems completely awake now. Good.

Anderson whirls around to face him. "Don't call me that," he snaps. It reminds him of the name being growled out of that infuriating mouth along with, "Goddammit, fuck me _harder_."

There's a little voice in his head saying how much he wants to crawl back in the bed and do just that. He desperately wishes it was a tangible being so he could punch it in the face. "Just tell me where my clothes are so I can get the hell out of here."

Before Keith can answer, more pieces of the night before come back to him and he realizes his clothes are probably in the living room. He stomps out of the bedroom (Little Voice: _What are you, five?_ ) and spots his shirt and pants on the couch.

He's got his pants on and is just about to put on his shirt when Keith appears in the doorway, shirtless in a pair of pajama pants. Anderson wants to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He puts his shirt on instead.

"So that's it then?" Keith asks. He's trying to sound nonchalant, but...is that disappointment Anderson hears?

"Oh, like you were expecting anything more." Anderson is as surprised at the venom behind the words as he is at the words themselves. He knows he should apologize, steer the conversation to where he really wants it to go (back to the bedroom, the little voice sneers), but apparently even hangovers as weak as this one cut off all his common sense.

By now he's got his socks and shoes on and he's reaching for his coat on the floor. "I hope whatever body you curl around tonight is just as warm as mine was." He makes the mistake of looking at Keith's face at that moment, watches the shock and hurt flash across it before anger takes over.

The little voice is now going _What the ever-loving hell is wrong with you?_

He turns away before Keith can say anything and opens the door to leave. Just before it slams shut behind him, a harsh, furious whisper reaches his ears.

"Fuck you, _Anderson_." The insult behind the name is clear.

He lets out a shaky breath as he heads for the elevator.

This isn't how he expected it to go.

END.


End file.
